mirror ball 55: haircuts

Our memorable haircuts:

tell us about a memorable haircut.

Maybe it did or didn't live up to your hopes.
Maybe it marked a life passage.
Maybe it was transformational, regrettable, or awesome (or all three). 

Ann: 

I have stick-straight, shiny, blonde hair. In the summer it gets lots of nice streaky highlights from the sun. Some people pay a lot of money and spend a lot of time getting their hair to have these qualities. (I've always coveted dark hair, but my one stint as a brunette was short-lived, once I discovered how often I'd have to dye it.) In my mid-twenties, my hair was longish, just past my shoulders. I wanted it cut very short—about a half-inch long all over, short and spiky. I went to my regular salon and the stylist wouldn't do it. She said I'd regret it, that it would take years to grow back.

The next week my still-long hair and I were in New York for the annual College Art Association conference, and I found myself in between sessions enjoying a couple of Absolut vodka lemonades with a friend (it was the early ’90s, when everyone in the art world drank Absolut everything). I was telling her about my haircut failure, and she pointed out that we were just a block or so from Astor Place Haircutters. Minutes later, I was in the chair, in the midst of a long row of middle-aged Italian men smoking cigars as they worked, (remember, it was the ’90s—pre-smoking bans!) clipping and shaving away for $10 a pop. My guy didn't flinch at my request, quickly and efficiently sending handfuls of long blonde hair to the floor without comment. Fifteen minutes later I was out the door, feeling that incredible lightness that comes from losing the weight of a foot or so of hair (and a couple of Absolute lemonades, perhaps).

My stylist was wrong; I never regretted the cut for a moment. I kept it short for a year or so, eventually letting it grow again because I was just too lazy to get it cut every six weeks. But maybe next time I'm in New York ...

Lori M:
It was 1996, and I was living in New York, going to school there for the year. My hair was long. The challenge was having to wash it with a hand held shower hose while sitting in a bathtub, in what was usually a pretty chilly bathroom - there was no shower in the loft. After a few months of this ritual, I decided to cut my hair - short. A classmate who was from New York told me she was going to take me to her hair stylist to do the job right. His name: Konichi. And he was not a "hair stylist", but a "hair artist", apparently. I let him take the reins and get creative, and I have to say, he did a beautiful job. I had never before, nor since, paid as much as I did for that haircut. Before Konichi began shaping my cut, he whacked my long braid off, and I put it in a small bag - why, I don't know. After my appointment, I went to a movie and mistakenly left my little bag with my braid under my seat. I kept wondering if anyone bothered to look in the bag before they tossed it out, secretly hoping it wasn't someone who was into voodoo. 

Dave D:

It was around the early 70s when it was verging on illegal for men to have hair shorter than shoulder length, and a hanging offence if it was shorter than the collar. In those days in England, there was no such thing as a male hairdresser…just barbers. I badly needed my split ends sorting out, so that I had a better chance of even longer hair.

I went along to the local ‘barber’, explained my situation, and then sat in the chair absolutely astonished as he proceeded to vent his revenge on my entire generation. I sat there fixed like a rabbit in the headlights as he gradually took my hair down to about ½” all over (ironically quite fashionable now!)

I was so flabbergasted that I couldn’t speak. I was so traumatized that I may even have given him a tip, but I prefer to erase that bit.

I made it home by going the shortest possible way, and hiding behind parked vehicles at the approach of anyone I vaguely knew. I got home and past my mother who said it was the best she had seen me look in years, and taking  three stairs at a time, I got up to the temporary sanctuary of my bedroom to work out some kind of plan as to how I was going to survive the next 6 months required to get my hair back to the point where it wouldn’t cause mass hysterics amongst all my friends…..and oh my god…what about my girlfriend !!  Fortunately, my girlfriend, who is now also my wife had and has a highly developed sense of humour. We didn’t go out much for a while. That was the last time I ever went to a barber/ hairdresser/ follicular stylist or whatever the modern hybrids are. My wife Chris has done it ever since, and although I say so myself, she’s become quite an expert. 

Dan:

In 1978 i finally stopped going to Joe the barber and went to a real salon with blow dryers, back combing and gays. I had brownish blonde hair and at the time was in love with Elton John - i couldn't describe the hair cut I wanted so I brought in his Caribou album and pointed to the balding young singer and said - I want my hair like that - the stylist raised his eyebrows and cropped my hair - afterwards I paraded around in my platforms - I was rockin'. 

Holly:

it was new years eve, 2007/8, and i had just quit smoking (again, hopefully for the last time!) i've had long hair most of my life, but i decided to shave my head.  a big deal, even for a low-fi femme like me. ooh, the *texture*. it was amazing. it took me a week to get over the way the shower felt on my newly bared scalp. good times.

Lori F:

Hair has always been very important to me. 

Very important.

I was born bald as a cue-ball and stayed that way until I was about two. Then I had very thick, wavy, kind of wiry hair as a kid until puberty hit. Then BLAMMO. Curly hair! Not just curly hair, big, crazy wild curly hair out of the blue and totally weird for the formerly bald me. The curls came at a good time though - we were fast approaching the '80's and the height of the big hair phase.

I grew up in New York and Florida - the two prime markets for gigantic hair. In high school I would get up two hours early to make my hair perfect for my big day of sitting at my desk - I would wash, blow dry upside down (which I still do today), add tons of L'Oreal Studio Effects Mousse (remember that colorblock eighties can?) and use a pick to tease to great lengths/heights. I remember spraying on the Stiff Stuff Hairspray like glue, pulling my hair away from my head with the pick and then shooting it with a blast of hot air from the blow dryer to seal it. No wonder I had to get up hours early, it took an hour to wash that shellac out of my poor, dry, frizzy hair.

But back in the day frizzy was awesome. I may not have been the prettiest girl, I may not have been the most popular girl, but damn, I had good hair. 

Laura Liz: 
Once I stopped dying my hair (once upon a time it was purple), I decided to spend the rest of my life growing it out long and then chopping it all off once there's enough to donate. So far, I've done it twice (it takes so long to grow it out enough! Locks of Love wants at least 10 inches for donations). 

People used to always complement my hair and make a really big deal out of it. It seemed to be the first thing people noticed about me. Then I read a story about a Buddhist nun shaving off her hair for the first time. I wondered if anybody would still think I was pretty if I didn't have my hair. I told my boyfriend at the time that I was thinking about cutting my hair short, and he said very seriously that he would break up with me if I did that (Oh, high school...)

The first time I did it, I posted a photo on facebook. I figured it would get a bit of attention, but I had no idea it would generate such strong emotions in people. My stepmom got really upset and insisted to my father that I was "trying to be a man." The facebook photo got more "likes" and positive comments than any of my others, all from the most vocal feminists among my friends. It also got a few comments from male friends along the lines of "oh no why did you do that," etc. One of my male friends posted a comment that was so negative that another one of my male friends came to my rescue and they had a long argument in my comments section. My mother was pleased that I looked more professional, but insisted that I now must wear more makeup and dangly earrings.

I  was a little overwhelmed, but I had my question answered. Would people still like me if I was less conventionally pretty? Yep. Even the friends who hated my haircut couldn't argue with my motivation to donate to an organization that makes wigs for children who have undergone chemotherapy. After I sent my hair off, a few weeks later I got the Thank You postcard in the mail from Locks of Love. I called a few of my friends and family members who were the most emotional about that photo (either positively or negatively) and said "Yo, it's just hair."

Last month I finally had enough hair to do it again. My short hair is unruly and kind of a pain in the mornings, but it's absolutely worth it. 

If you're considering it... http://www.locksoflove.org/donate.html  (If you don't have enough hair to donate or don't want to, I'm sure they take money too if you are so inclined.)